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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27536251">is a line (from me to you)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lapin/pseuds/Lapin'>Lapin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, minor PTSD insinuations</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 16:15:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,260</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27536251</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lapin/pseuds/Lapin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In some ways, it’s like he was never gone. The clone had apparently done everything just as he would have. </p>
<p>That does not help.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Julian Bashir/Elim Garak</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>112</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>is a line (from me to you)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Why? Because I'm in a good damn mood after the hell that has been the past four years, so let's just go wild.  Also this show has been on a lot and I always liked this one.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was easier to simply not think about what had happened. Julian thought about many things over the course of a day; the nurses’ rotation, his scheduled appointments, inventory of the medbay supplies, making plans for any and all unexpected emergencies that could potentially happen. All the things a doctor must do. </p>
<p>In some ways, it’s like he was never gone. The clone had apparently done everything just as he would have. </p>
<p>That does not help. And since it is an unhelpful thought, Julian banishes it to somewhere else in his mind, the same closet all his darkest thoughts and feelings are confined to. He has no room for unhelpful thoughts right now. No room for memories of that place. No room for the hope that had sustained him there, kept him sane, the belief that his friends and colleagues would <em>know</em>, they would know it wasn’t him, and even if had them fooled, -</p>
<p>That is an unhelpful thought, and liable to lead him down a path that ends in hysteria. He does not have the time or luxury of that. So he does not think about it. Into the closet it goes, and this time, he shuts the door tight. </p>
<p>The inventory isn’t right. That’s not at all unusual in a medbay. Things are taken out during emergencies without anyone making a log of it, or things are received unexpectedly, and not added in properly. It’s soothing, fixing it, putting everything back into order. Julian has always enjoyed order and routine in this part of his life, as his baseline. Everything else can fall into chaos, but there is always the steadiness of this sort of task. It takes up all the space in his head that would otherwise be filled by the urge to scream and shout, to carry on and make a scene. </p>
<p>There’s a time and place where making a scene is fine, expected even. A time to allow one’s self to be emotional. This is not the time, not when he must show a good face, show that a little torture, a little imprisonment, is not nearly enough to crack his nerves, and the supply closet is most assuredly not the place. There are fragile things in here. And there are patients in the wing, trying to rest. </p>
<p>His shift finishes. He makes sure all his notes and orders are transferred and available, checks on each patient’s progress to be sure there’s nothing to worry over, and those that need extra monitoring are in fact being monitored. He tidies his work area. </p>
<p>And then he goes back to his quarters. They are empty. Though there’s no reason why they would not be. No reason at all. His disappointment is entirely unfounded. But the disappointment is there, all the same, mixed with something that might be relief. He does not really want to have the confrontation he’s imagined over and over in his mind, if only because he knows it wouldn’t go any of the ways he’s imagined. </p>
<p>So goes another day. Like all the others before it, it’s followed by a new one, and that one is no different than the last one. Except today is his weekly lunch with Garak. Apparently that had been kept up by his replacement, and Garak had gone along with it. That is a thought that is neither unhelpful nor helpful. Julian just doesn’t know what to do with it at all. </p>
<p>Except stick to routine, and go to lunch. </p>
<p>This week at least goes better than last week’s. Last week’s lunch had been awkward, Julian biting back all sorts of things the whole time. Garak had known he was. Of course he did. But he didn’t press, because why would he? The last time one of them had pressed the other had gone rather spectacularly badly, after all. </p>
<p>And yet Garak went to lunch with Julian’s imposter right after, anyway. </p>
<p>How had he not <em>known</em> -</p>
<p>“My dear, you are in danger of breaking that glass,” Garak says. “Unless that is your goal?” </p>
<p>How quickly had he resumed that little habit, calling Julian <em>my dear</em>? He must have called the imposter that. Perhaps even Garak was capable of a slip of the tongue. And the imposter would not have known, could not have known, that there would have been a reason to be angry over it. So what had Garak thought? That all was forgiven? Just as easily as that?</p>
<p>“Considering I am the only surgeon aboard, no, I don’t think I’m interested in that goal,” Julian demurs, letting go of it. Garak was only joking. Julian would have felt the give before it was too late. At least, he hopes so. “Though, the Cardassian in this one, he might have been.” He’s spent his nights before bed over the course of this week reading the novel Garak had given him last week. Julian has admittedly welcomed the distraction. There is nothing that will distract him from his own tangled-up feelings and thoughts quite like the frustration he feels towards Cardassian literature. </p>
<p>“It’s a metaphor,” Garak says, because of course it is. </p>
<p>“I’m not sure what deliberately throwing oneself from a tree could be a metaphor of,” Julian argues. </p>
<p>“And I’m rather sure you could see it, if you tried,” Garak insists. </p>
<p>“Did you?” It slips out. Or maybe Julian wanted to say it. He’s not sure. </p>
<p>But Garak understands what he means. Julian knows his micro-expressions well enough now to discern it, even if no one else could. He thought Garak knew him at least as well, if not better, by nature of who Garak is. Apparently not. </p>
<p>Garak says nothing, for a moment, the sounds around them filling up the empty space. Background noise that’s inanity does not manage to take away any of the weight when Garak finally asks, “Is that what you would like to discuss, Julian?” </p>
<p>“No.” This is not the time or place, after all. And Julian still has to go back to work. “Is it some sort of allusion to defying the state? Isn’t that what all Cardassian novels are about?” </p>
<p>“You know very well that is not true,” Garak responds, and the moment passes, as does lunch. </p>
<p>The rest of Julian’s shift passes as well, and he goes back to his quarters. Alone again. He doesn’t know if that’s what he wants. Maybe. He doesn’t feel like socializing at all, not really. Funny, because that’s all he could think about in that prison. Getting back to normal. Going about his day. Hanging out with Miles. Lunch with Garak. </p>
<p>He had thought about Garak a lot. Replayed that fight over and over. What he could have said differently, done differently, to change the outcome. The Garak that lived in his head was a poor imitation of the real thing though. For one, it actually responded in a way that made sense to Julian. The real Garak always had so many things going on in his head, so many factors in play, that Julian never knew just what he would say or do. </p>
<p>However, when Julian steps out of the bathroom, freshly showered and with his teeth cleaned, he can say that he did predict at least one scenario where Garak was doing what he’s doing right now. That is, sitting in Julian’s quarters as though he has nowhere else to be, reading a book. </p>
<p>“I don’t remember inviting you over,” Julian says, tired suddenly. No, <em>weary</em>. That’s the correct term for this heavy, dragged-out feeling. The one that makes him ask, “Or was that something my replacement did?” </p>
<p>“No,” Garak replies coolly. “Is that why you’re angry? You’ve imagined some sordid affair going on in your absence?” </p>
<p>That’s exactly what Julian imagined, in the dark loneliness of his mind. “Do you think you’re all I think about?” It wouldn’t be without some basis in fact. Julian does spend far too much time thinking about Garak. Garak already knows that though. “I couldn’t say I would blame you.” How could he, if Garak couldn’t even tell the difference? He wouldn’t have been doing anything wrong. He wouldn’t have been purposefully betraying Julian. There wasn’t even anything to betray. </p>
<p>“Lies don’t suit you, my dear doctor,” Garak says. “Your face is far too open for it. Even after your ordeal.” </p>
<p>“And you still couldn’t tell?” It comes out angry. Because Julian <em>is</em> angry, if he allows himself. It’s practically bleeding from every part of him, but he’s kept it stopped up, kept it patched, because that’s what everyone expects, isn’t it? They expect the kind, soft doctor to just fall apart at the seams after enduring that. They expect nothing but the worst, and Julian will not give it to them. He refuses. He refuses for everyone, except this is Garak, the supposed spymaster, and he <em>knows</em> Julian, he’s supposed to know him - “You couldn’t tell, not even for an instant? You, of all people?” </p>
<p>Garak, true to form, true to how Julian knows him, how he really is, does not fly into a rage to match him. He sets aside the book, and says, calmly, “I was never close enough to it to become suspicious.” </p>
<p>Some of the anger, but not all of it, is washed away by the sheer relief he feels at that. “Don’t lie to me.” </p>
<p>“In this instance, I am not. I stand to gain nothing from a lie, and everything from honesty. So I am telling you the truth.” He stands, strolls towards the window, as though there’s anything interesting to see. As though it ever changes. “The timing was rather convenient for it, though it couldn’t have known that. It seems they did not know the full extent of our relationship, as it was. In any case, we argued, we did not speak for a day or so, and in that gap, it took your place.” </p>
<p>That is what happened, though an argument is underselling it a bit. They had fought, and Julian had said things he didn’t mean, made ultimatums he wanted to take back as soon as he had made them. But he hadn’t, out of pride. And Garak had left Julian’s quarters that night. </p>
<p>He has regretted that fight ever since. That if he was to die in that place, things had ended so bitterly. So unfinished. </p>
<p>But not all the anger is gone, because he latches on to the other part. “You didn’t even try to talk to me?” </p>
<p>“Do not mistake the distance as any desire of mine,” Garak says, still calm. Casual, even. “If it brings you any joy, I did not last very long in my resolve to stay to your wishes. I made an...attempt to make up with you, as you would phrase it, after the person I thought was you returned. I invited you to my quarters, with an offer to continue our discussion on some poetry.”</p>
<p>That had been their code. Garak did not invite anyone to his quarters, not for anything, and especially not for poetry analysis. Julian is the only exception. And they did discuss poetry, to be fair. </p>
<p>“It told me that it would have to wait, as it had an appointment to play some sort of game with O’Brien. I took it to be a dismissal of my overtures, and assumed that was the end of things.” Garak would never allow any emotion to bleed into his voice unintentionally, so the hurt there is deliberately shown to Julian. He wants Julian to know. “And that is all, Julian. That is why I did not see it. That is why no one saw it for what it was. It was very clever in that way. Keeping its interactions with the rest of us minimal, light. So no one would ever see anything suspicious.” </p>
<p>That he admits to doing something like that, to even trying, is the sort of thing Garak would only say if he really is trying to make up now. He is, Julian thinks. Trying to tell Julian he’s sorry he didn’t know. That none of them knew. It makes sense too. Everyone has their own lives, their own worries and concerns. If Julian was suddenly a little distant, not around as much, they would brush it off as him having too much work, or some other private matter. If they never had time to look properly, they wouldn’t know. </p>
<p>It still hurts, that the thing was able to successfully impersonate him for a month. It still hurts very much. But that was the goal, after all. Why shouldn’t others in the galaxy be just as competent as anyone else? </p>
<p>And Julian is very tired, and he’s been alone for so long. Weeks and weeks. All that time, that he had spent lonely, and wanting nothing more than to discuss literature. </p>
<p>“What exactly were you planning on doing, to make up with me?” An olive branch offered. </p>
<p>“I was going to read some of that poetry you kept recommending,” Garak says. “And then I was going to concede to it being superior to the Cardassian volume we had read last.” </p>
<p>Julian smiles, a small, almost sad expression. “You were going to lie to me.” </p>
<p>“Isn’t that what lovers do, when they want to be forgiven?” Garak asks. “Tell meaningless lies?” </p>
<p>“I suppose,” Julian says. It’s true. Sometimes a lie is necessary, to soothe hurt feelings. And with Garak, Julian mostly assumes he’s lying about anything and everything just to see what Julian will believe anyway. “I wouldn’t have believed you. Not on that.” That much, he knows. But perhaps he would have pretended to. Even without this separation, he knows himself very well, and he knows how easy his own heart is. “Did you read it though?” </p>
<p>There’s no reason for him to have done so, if he thought Julian was content to end that part of their relationship. He doesn’t really expect Garak to have done so. But lies are nice right now, after a kind, but difficult, truth. </p>
<p>So he really doesn’t expect Garak to quote to him, “‘For days he had played that game, and day after day, I avoided your name by instinct.’” It’s from <em>Night Air</em>, one of the ones in the book that Julian is very fond of. “Why all the secrecy with his employer? I thought Humans were far too open about that sort of thing.”</p>
<p>He would think that. “The poem was written a long time ago. Earth has had its ups and downs, same as any other world, and when that man wrote that poem, if his employer knew his lover was another man, he could have lost his employment, his reputation. Same-sex relationships were verbotem.” </p>
<p>Garak genuinely seems confused. “And yet he published a poem about it.” </p>
<p>“I think the poem was talking about a time in his past,” Julian explains. “There was a period in Earth’s history where acceptance of that kind of relationship changed in a matter of decades. I can’t say for sure though. It was a very long time ago.” It feels strange, to be having this conversation, as though the last part is separate. “I liked it for how soft it is. Quiet. Domestic, I suppose.” </p>
<p>“I did not hate it,” Garak says. “It does have a simplicity to it.” </p>
<p>On any other night, it would be the best Julian could ask for from Garak. He’s not in the mood tonight. He’s not in the mood for much of anything, and he’s felt that way since he got back. With all the fear and adrenaline gone, he’s felt empty of everything except anger and frustration at being so angry. It’s exhausted him too, he realizes. “Tell me you liked it.” </p>
<p>Garak tilts his head at Julian. “I liked it.” The olive branch, offered back. “I am sorry. I am sorry I did not see it for what it was.” He comes a step closer, then another. “Will it help if I admit that I was perhaps trying to avoid spending any excessive amount of time around it?” Garak’s voice drops, as though someone might be listening. “That I was...somewhat wounded, by what I saw as a rejection of my offer?” </p>
<p>Yes. Yes, that does help, to know that Garak can feel things the same way as everyone else does. That he could be hurt by Julian. “They didn’t…” He can’t even say they didn’t torture him. He can’t say anything. “I -” He cannot say he’s fine. He’s not fine. He is very, very far from fine, and he doesn’t know if he ever will be again. “Can I just tell you what I would like to happen now?”</p>
<p>“You can, my dear,” Garak says, but Julian doesn’t need to say it. Garak does exactly what Julian’s wanted, in his fantasies, and he brings Julian into his arms and holds him. </p>
<p>He does not cry. He wants to, wants the release he knows it will bring, but it doesn’t come quite yet. His body still believes it is in distress, and cannot allow itself to relax just yet. But Garak, there’s nothing that could replicate Garak and the way he feels, the way he holds Julian. Even his memories weren’t enough. </p>
<p>Memory is flawed, even Julian’s. But feeling, that’s instinctive. </p>
<p>“Would you have? If it let you close?” He needs to know, even if it’s just a lie. “Would you have known it wasn’t me?”</p>
<p>“<em>Yes</em>,” Garak says, emphatically, and then, in calm, rote sort of way, “And I would have killed it.” He cups Julian’s face with one hand, the gentle slide of his scales just the same. “After I had extracted any useful information from it.” </p>
<p>Julian turns his face, his mouth brushing Garak’s palm. He nods tersely, because he cannot speak for a moment. That is not a lie, he’s sure. Garak would have done that, if he figured it out. “Good.” That’s what he needed to hear. It’s cruel and terrible, and not at all what a doctor should say, but he doesn’t care for the time being. Garak will not judge him for it. “Would you be willing to take me to bed, now?” </p>
<p>There’s no change in Garak’s expression, but there’s indecision in his eyes. Difficult to see, if someone doesn’t know how to look for it. Julian though, Julian knows it’s there, he sees it, and he steps away from Garak, feeling something that might be the urge to scream building up in his chest. </p>
<p>Because they took so much from him, far too much. That last little strip of naivete, that last bit of him that still felt like who he was when he graduated from the Academy and took off into the stars, that part of him is gone. This sanded it away, left him to be whoever this version of Julian is, and yet he was somehow still clinging to a sort of shallow confidence, that if he can’t be that idealistic young doctor, he’s still wanted in some ways. </p>
<p>And now that feels like it’s gone, too. It’s ridiculous, adolescent even, but it might be the proverbial feather at last. That Garak doesn’t <em>want</em> him now. That perhaps no one will want him. </p>
<p>“Julian,” Garak says. “My dear, that’s not it.” </p>
<p>He said nothing out loud. He doesn’t have to, with Garak. Not usually. Not until the last time they were here like this, and Garak had seemed so utterly obtuse to the matter that was bothering Julian so deeply. He’d seemed to need Julian to spell it out, and by then, Julian had been too angry. </p>
<p>“Then what?”</p>
<p>Garak seems to mull it over. Deciding between a lie and the truth. Choosing a lie, maybe. “You’ve been through an ordeal. And we did not part well. I do not want you making a decision you will quickly regret.” </p>
<p>There’s so much unsaid in that, so much call-back to that argument. Things they’d said, things Julian had said. “Garak…” He pauses. Thinks over what he needs to say. “When I went away, right after, I was still angry. But I was not angry in a way that meant I intended to never speak with you again, or end our relationship, as it was. I was angry, and I wanted to keep shouting at you.” He covers his face with his hands, drags his fingers down. “And then I woke up in an internment camp, and all I wanted was to see you, to forgive you. To forget.” </p>
<p>“The things we disagreed on have not changed,” Garak reminds him. </p>
<p>“I don’t care,” Julian says, feeling desperate. “What was it you said? ‘We are what we are for the moment we’re in’?” That’s an exact quote. Julian’s memory is almost perfect, and they both know it. “I understand that now. I really...I truly understand that so much better now.” </p>
<p>He didn’t then. He didn’t understand just what Garak meant, but now he does. They live complicated lives, and things change in less than a day. Julian had gone to sleep, and woken up in an entirely different world. The things that had seemed so important in the before, so very important, feel small and without merit now. </p>
<p>Is this how Garak feels all the time, Julian wonders? Just getting through each day the only thing that matters, with everything that could happen next to turn everything terribly wrong looming over him? </p>
<p>“I want you to take me to bed, and I want to be held,” Julian says. </p>
<p>That’s it. It’s so simple. He wants to be comforted, and he wants Garak. There is rarely a time that he feels safer and more beloved than when he is with Garak. He can’t think of any of those times right now, either. </p>
<p>“Oh, my dear,” Garak says, almost laughing. “My dearest.” </p>
<p>And then he does what Julian so badly needs, and cups his face, bringing Julian in for a kiss. This is what he needs. Not rage, not anger, not sadness and not a thousand apologies. He just needs this right now. </p>
<p>Tonight, Garak stays. They don’t talk about anything, not really. Books. Garak has been reading quite a bit of Earth poetry, no matter what he says. Whether he likes it or not, Julian couldn’t say. It’s not what’s important in Cardassian culture though, whether something is <em>likeable</em>. Julian’s worked that out now. It’s more about whether there’s something to have a conversation about, or better, an argument. At least that’s true of the part of Cardassia Garak comes from. </p>
<p>Julian wonders now if it’s a kind of politeness. Arguing about literature, art, those are safe subjects. Arguing about more personal things, that’s just not done. </p>
<p><em>“What are we?”</em> Julian had asked Garak that, the night they fought. It had bothered Garak that Julian had asked that. Bothered him a lot, and not just for the obvious reasons. But Julian had been desperate to know that night, had thought he needed something concrete. A promise, maybe. Ridiculous thing to try and ask of Garak. </p>
<p>But now, cradled against him, reveling in the rise and fall of Garak’s chest, the thrum of life in him, the reassuring feel of Garak’s scales, Julian doesn’t want those things. Those promises. “How do you think they knew they could swap me out, and no one would notice?”</p>
<p>He hears Garak make a small sound, thinking. “They didn’t, my dear. They had no idea if they could. They chose you because you are high-enough ranking, that you had access to the things and people they needed, but you are not so high-ranking they would be quickly caught out by Starfleet. They knew you were affable, well-liked. So whatever mistakes or fumbles the imposter made, they would be brushed aside by the public at large, because you had earned enough goodwill from others. And that was the decision-making process entirely.” </p>
<p>“Is that what you would have done, in their place?” </p>
<p>“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Garak replies. “I am but a tailor, my dear.” </p>
<p>Julian huffs, closes his eyes. The lights in here are already set low enough he could sleep, if he so chose right now. That’s how Garak prefers them. “Don’t leave while I’m sleeping. Wait until I’m awake, like a civilized person.” </p>
<p>“If you insist,” Garak says, making it sound very theatrical. “Though it will be quite aggravating, to have to return to my own quarters to get myself ready for the work day. If I am forced to open the shop late, rest assured, I will direct any and all complaints to you.” </p>
<p>It’s nonsense, and Julian turns over, settling on his side and getting comfortable. Garak directs the lights to full darkness, and Julian feels him move around a bit. There’s only the stars outside to light the room, nothing but the sound of the life support systems. And Garak, breathing. </p>
<p>Until Garak says, “They did get very lucky, Julian. Because if it had known, and it had attempted to maintain our relationship as it stood, I would have known it wasn’t you.” And he would have killed it. It’s already been said, but there’s something much darker in the way Garak says it now, belied by the gentleness of his voice. </p>
<p>Julian goes to sleep. It’s the first time since he got back, since he was taken, that he finally falls into a blessedly deep sleep, safe. When he wakes to the false sunrise of his quarters’ settings, Garak is still there.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Poem quoted is "Night Air" by C. Dale Young</p></blockquote></div></div>
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